Authors: Vladimir Bartol
The news that the supreme commander would not take part in the assembly had a painful effect on the visiting dais. They thought he was slighting them, that he had set up a barrier between them and himself, and that he had retreated to some remote and rarefied place.
Heavyset dai Zakariya whispered to the Greek, “Is this another one of his pranks?”
The Greek replied, “It’s possible. I’m just afraid this prank might cost us our necks.”
The grand dai called on the teachers to report on their novices’ successes and failures. The school supervisor Abu Soraka went first. He began by describing the overall curriculum to the visiting commanders, then he explained what they had learned from him so far.
“The most outstanding of all the novices,” he said, “is a young man from Sava, the grandson of Tahir, whom the grand vizier had beheaded some twenty years ago. Not only is he exceptionally bright, with a good memory, but he also has a gift for poetry. Next after him, I would single out Jafar, an exceptionally serious young man who is a scrupulous student of the Koran. Then Obeida, who is clever, if not always dependable. Then Naim for his industriousness …”
Abu Ali jotted the names down and added comments after each one. Ibrahim also accorded ibn Tahir first place. But Captain Manuchehr praised Yusuf and Suleiman ahead of all the others. In Abdul Malik’s assessment, Suleiman held first place, followed immediately by ibn Tahir. The doctor was by and large satisfied with all of them and didn’t name specific names.
The visiting dais were astonished to hear about such demanding and extensive schooling. What they heard filled them with a vague distrust, because the ultimate meaning and purpose of this education were incomprehensible.
Once the teachers were through with their reports, Abu Ali rubbed his hands in satisfaction.
“As you’ve just heard, we at Alamut are by no means asleep. All of Our Master’s calculations since he took hold of this castle two years ago have proven correct. The sultan is still in no hurry to cut short our ownership of this fortress, just as Hasan ibn Sabbah predicted two years ago. And the barbarians across the border don’t care who controls it. If they want to invade, they’ll have to attack it, whether it’s us or the sultan’s forces sitting here. And we would have to defend it, just as they would. We have made good use of the time the sultan has granted us at the castle out of these considerations. Our commander has carried out a complete reorganization of Ismaili life. Every believer has been trained to be an unyielding soldier, and every soldier is also a fervent believer. But of all our initiatives, the supreme commander considers the one that founded our school for fedayeen to be the most important. This school will produce our elite, who will be ready to make any sacrifice. It is still too early for us to foresee the full implications of this institution. I can only tell you this in the name of Our Master: the axe that will cut down the tree of the Seljuk line will soon be sharpened. The day may not be far off when the first blow will ring. This entire region as far as Rai is sympathetic to the Ismaili cause. And if, as our delegates from Khuzestan tell us, the grand dai Husein Alkeini is about to incite a mass rebellion against the sultan that will engulf that entire region, then we already know approximately when we will have to put our power to the test. But most likely some time still remains until that happens, and, until then, honored dais and commanders, act as you’ve acted until now. Which is to say, recruit new followers to our cause, one man at a time.”
While he had begun his address in an ordinary, steady voice, as he progressed he grew more and more impassioned. He gesticulated, winked knowingly, and smiled. Then he rose up from the pillows on which he had so far been sitting cross-legged, and he stepped out into the midst of the dais. He continued.
“My friends! I bring you a special order from Sayyiduna. Don’t let your success in recruiting new adherents dim your vision! Right now every individual counts. Don’t let the large numbers of our coreligionists seduce you into thinking, ‘Why should we still try to recruit this or that individual if he doesn’t have status or wealth?’ That individual may be the one person who will tip the balance in our favor. Don’t shy away from the effort! Go from person to person and try to persuade them. The most important thing is that you first gain their trust. Don’t go at it the same way each time, but alter your tactics from one case to the next. If you see that one person is strictly religious and has unbounded faith in the Koran, show the same qualities
in yourself. Tell him that under the Seljuk sultans the faith is degenerating, and that the caliph of Baghdad has become their slave. If he counters that the imam of Cairo is a foreigner and a pretender, agree with him, but keep insisting that things are not right with the representative in Baghdad either. Your job will be easier if the object of your recruitment is a devotee of Ali or at least sympathetic to those teachings. If you see that he’s proud of his Iranian ancestry, tell him that our movement has nothing in common with the Egyptian regime. But if he has been unjustly slighted by the locals, reassure him that if the Egyptian Fatimids come to rule over us, he’ll find full justice. Whenever you come across a more intelligent man who secretly or even publicly mocks the Koran and its articles of faith, tell him that Ismaili doctrine is fundamentally identical to free thought, and that the teaching of the seven imams is just sand in the eyes and bait for the ignorant masses. Work each individual in accordance with his nature and his views, unobtrusively leading him to doubt the rightness of the existing order. At the same time, show yourselves to be modest and content with little, behaving in accordance with the ways and customs of whichever land you’re in and whichever class you’re dealing with, and in all insignificant things concur with your partner in conversation. He should have the impression that, although you may be learned and experienced, you still value him highly and place a great deal of weight on guiding him to the one true way. Once you’ve won his trust in this way, you may proceed to the second step of the plan. You will explain to him that you belong to a religious order that aims to establish justice and truth in the world and settle accounts with foreign rulers. Involve him in passionate discussions, pique his curiosity, appear mysterious, hint and promise until you’ve completely confused him. Then demand that he swear an oath of silence, explain the doctrine of the seven imams, if he believes in the Koran you should demolish his faith, talk about our readiness and the unbeatable army just waiting for the order to attack the sultan. Force him to swear more oaths, confide in him that there is a great prophet at Alamut who has the fealty of thousands and thousands of believers, and so prepare him to vow his loyalty to us. If he’s wealthy, or if his financial circumstances are at least bearable, extract large sums of money from him, so that he feels bound to us. Because long experience has shown that men hold tightly to whatever they’ve invested their money in. Out of those funds distribute trivial amounts to the poor among your followers, and do this at rare intervals, so that you keep them on a string. Tell them that these are just advance payments on the reward that they will receive from our supreme commander for their loyalty to the Ismaili cause. Once the individual is entirely in your hands, keep entangling him even more securely in your nets. Tell him about the horrible punishment that awaits apostates, about the saintly life of our leader and about the miracles that take place around him.
From time to time return to that region and don’t overlook a single one of the alliances you’ve established. For as Our Master has said, no one is so small that he can’t serve our cause.”
The dais and commanders listened to his speech with intense interest. From time to time he focused on one or the other of them, speaking and gesticulating as though he were communicating just with him.
“Now or never!” he cried out toward the end. “Let that be our motto. You are hunters and fishers of souls. Our Master chose you for that, and now he’s sending you back into the world to carry out his instructions. Be fearless, for all of our strength, all of our believers, and all of our warriors stand behind each one of you.”
Then he brought out a chest of money and began to settle accounts. Abdul Malik sat down beside him and opened a large book containing a record of who had already received how much, and how much additionally the supreme commander was allotting each of them now.
“From now on each one of you will receive a fixed wage every year,” Abu Ali said, “which you should view as a reward for your loyalty and your work. The greater an individual’s successes and accomplishments, the higher the amount allotted to him will be.”
The commanders began making their various requests. One of them had several wives and children, another had a long trip ahead of him. A third wanted to take the money for his comrade who had been unable to come, and a fourth lived in a region noted for its exceptional poverty. Only the representative of the grand dai of Khuzestan, Husein Alkeini, had actually brought something—three full bags of gold pieces—and asked nothing for himself or his superior.
“Here’s a man who can serve as a model for you all,” Abu Ali said, heartily embracing the delegate from Khuzestan.
“Robbery’s good business,” al-Hakim whispered to dai Zakariya with a knowing wink. Word had it that Husein Alkeini, on instructions from the supreme commander himself, preyed on the caravans that plied the routes out of Turkestan, and that this was one of the principal revenue sources that allowed Hasan ibn Sabbah to maintain his far-flung brotherhood.
When the disbursals were complete, the local commanders hosted a banquet of roasts and wine for their visitors and engaged them in more confidential discussions. They unburdened their cares and concerns to each other, and more than a few of them expressed serious doubts in the ultimate success of the Ismaili cause. They talked about their family concerns. One had a daughter at Alamut, another had a son someplace else, and between them they weighed the possibilities of marrying them off. Each one wanted to keep his family under his protection, and so they spent a long time arguing about who would have to let go of his child. And when these old friends
had finally drawn close enough again, they turned to examine the supreme commander and his personal affairs.
Both of Hasan’s daughters, Khadija and Fatima, lived under Abu Soraka’s care in his harem. Khadija was thirteen, Fatima eleven. Hasan never called for them or asked about them since turning them over to Abu Soraka.
The dai told the delegate from Khuzestan, his guest, that the two girls were completely cowed, and that they shook at the mere mention of their father’s name. Abu Soraka couldn’t approve of that kind of treatment and was a very gentle father himself. What had become of Hasan’s wives, nobody knew. They weren’t at the castle.
The delegate from Khuzestan in turn described how the fortress of Gonbadan, which Husein Alkeini had conquered, was inhabited by the commander’s son Hosein. He and his father had quarreled, and as punishment his father turned him over to the grand dai of Khuzestan to serve as a common foot solider.
“That Hosein really is like a wild animal,” the delegate said. “But if I were his father, I would have kept him close by. Because if you can keep an eye on him, you’ll have the best chance of reforming him, or at least making some difference. But this humiliation has just reinforced Hosein in his stubbornness and spite. And Husein Alkeini has more than enough problems with him.”
The guests stayed at Alamut for three days, and at dawn on the fourth day they left, each to his own destination.
Life at the castle settled back into its routines, until an unexpected visit turned them inside out again.
One hot midsummer day an old man of about sixty came riding up to Alamut accompanied by some fifteen horsemen. The guard outside the entrance to the canyon stopped him and asked who he was and what brought him to the castle. He said that he was the former mayor, or
reis
, of Isfahan, Abul Fazel Lumbani, that he was coming from Rai, and that he had extremely important news for the supreme commander from the reis there. The officer on duty immediately rode up to the fortress to inform his superior of the arrival of the strangers.
This was right after the third prayer. The novices’ afternoon break had just begun when the sound of the horn called them to assembly. They swiftly pulled on their sandals, put on their cloaks, reached for their shields and weapons, and hurried out into the courtyard. Captain Manuchehr and dais Abu Soraka, Ibrahim and Abdul Malik were already waiting, mounted on horseback.
The young men also mounted their horses.
“Something’s happening,” Suleiman whispered to his neighbor, drawing air in through his nostrils. His eyes shone in anticipation.
At that moment Abu Ali ran out and mounted his short, shaggy white horse. His short legs clamped onto the animal’s flanks and belly as though they had grown together. He galloped to the head of the group of novices and called out to them.
“Men! I am giving you the honor of escorting a respected man who is a good friend of Our Master. This man is the former reis of Isfahan Abul Fazel, who hid the supreme commander for four months while the grand vizier pursued him. It is only fitting that we give him a welcome worthy of his distinction and contributions to our cause.”
He spurred his horse and galloped off with the escort over the bridge and into the canyon.
Meanwhile, Abul Fazel had started to lose his patience. He kept turning anxiously toward the canyon into which the guard had disappeared, his horse shifting its footing beneath him as though sensing his mood.
At last the troop of horsemen came pouring out of the canyon. Among them was Fazel’s old friend Abu Ali, who came galloping up to him and embraced him right from the saddle.
“It’s a pleasure to be the first to welcome you to Alamut,” Ali said.
“Thank you, I’m glad too,” Abul Fazel replied. His voice conveyed mild displeasure. “However, you didn’t set any records for speed. It used to be others had to wait for me to receive them. But as they say, what goes around comes around.”